Counting the Swans

    by Dennis Greene

I would change nothing.

Not the red beaks

or the black feathers.

Not the noise of the freeway.

Not the outreach of trees.

But I do not have time…

small deaths fill my days

and give shape to my hours,

dead tongues lick my ears

and I am counting the swans

in the Lake Monger carpark,

counting my hours

in the Lake Monger carpark,

red beaks and black feathers

in the Lake Monger carpark,

and the dampness of places

that I do not have time for;

and I do not have time.

© 2010 Dennis Greene

Born in Britain, raised in Zimbabwe, Dennis Greene has lived in Western Australia for the last 28 years.  Diagnosed with Parkinson's at the age of 37 he took the opportunity to 'follow his bliss' and began writing.  In 2000 he was invited to the United States to edit "Voices from the Parking Lot -Parkinson's perspectives."  For reasons he can't quite figure his poetry never mentions PD and his prose is about nothing else.